


The Waltz

by Aristocraticbloodlust



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Ada being Ada, F/M, leon has an alcohol addiction, mentioning/hinting to suicide, this is kinda sad, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 10:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aristocraticbloodlust/pseuds/Aristocraticbloodlust
Summary: Duty calls yes, but having her take off so fast makes his mind ache. Like most things, nothing lasts. Or so he convinces  himself.





	The Waltz

He lets it eat a hole through his chest, ripping through him like tender skin, or like the countless bodies upon bodies he was faced with on that fateful night he met her.

And from that instance on, after he met her, after he let himself grow steadily captivated, after he saved her, and after he let her kiss him, he’d never been the same again.

A burning want, a candle that shouldn’t have been lit was burning bright, and he couldn’t believe he let her get so close so fast.

She left him to bleed out on the floor after that bullet ripped through him. Much as she did.

And he lets her get away with it. Lets her get her way, lets her use him time and time again, and her words soothe him in all the wrong ways every time, because she knows just what to say to him to get him going.

And every time he thinks he’s so close to getting her to settle down, he’s wrong. Her lips melt his will like corrosive acid, deteriorates him, wilts him like a dying flower. It hurts his ego, maybe a bit more. But he never lets her know just how much he cares about her, and maybe that grants him leeway. Or so he hopes.

So when she’s kissing him again against the wall of the room she found him in, with her gun thrown off into a distant corner of the room due to their small little squabble, he does his best to not touch her. To not reciprocate, to trick himself into thinking she must feel the same because she’s the one that started this little tryst. They both know it’s false.

And years down the line after that, when his drinking seems to blossom and grow more heavy, his liquor becomes his imaginary Ada. One that he can grasp in his hands, one that he can hold, one that will still be there in the morning waiting for him when he wakes up.  
The only difference is that this burn warms his core and numbs his head, kills him softly and surely. 

A scotch filled stomach, and red lips stained with red wine is enough to suffice for him until spring rolls by, and his flower comes back. 

Or until he’s ready enough to cover the ground of his lonely apartment. Let the autumn come early in his living room. With her favorite primary color all over. An artificial pillow right under his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure what inspired that, but it is what it is I suppose. Anyhow, thanks for reading this edgy word diarrhea shit smeared fic.


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